


Deliver Me

by Orchyd Constyne (slarmstrong)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3289259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slarmstrong/pseuds/Orchyd%20Constyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros has had time to reflect on his deeds in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliver Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ilye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilye/gifts).



_"All of my life I've been in hiding._  
 _Wishing there was someone just like you._  
 _Now that you're here, now that I've found you,_  
 _I know that you're the one to pull me through..."_  
 _~ Deliver Me, Sarah Brightman_

Much had changed.

Or, perhaps, it was just that _he_ had changed.

Legolas Thranduilion was the last to arrive on the shores of Aman. The figure that stood on the balcony, still as a stone carving, let his thoughts drift. He knew Legolas had come -- bearing a Dwarf, of all things. But, he had not been with the group of Elves that welcomed such ships. No, he had not seen the shining, golden Sinda from a land he barely remembered. His brothers, though, they had been there. They brought the news of the Prince to his ears. They told him the last had returned; there would be no more ships bearing passengers. The Elf's lips curled into a small, fleeting smile as he thought of those closest to him. He was happy for his cousin, for her husband had accompanied the Woodland King and the last of the Peredhil.

Little escaped his ears. He knew of each Elf that walked in the Blessed Realm, but few knew of him. The Elf remained in his humble home, far from the main cities of Aman, content to keep to himself. He only kept his brothers close and rarely permitted his father entrance. The Noldo had a deep sense of loyalty to his younger siblings, and he never turned them away.

The tall, quiet figure stood upon a balcony, staring out over the crystal sea. He was motionless; only the soft fluttering of his rich hair or dark robes in the breeze betrayed life. Clear, slate blue eyes lined with dark lashes were unseeing, lost to the internal thoughts of the Elf. The sky turned to rust as Anor sank into Ulmo's hands. When the horizon was bathed in blood and the great ball of fire had disappeared below the sea, a sigh escaped the figure's lips. Another day had passed and one question still rang in his ears: Did he deserve this new life?

He had asked himself the same question for over two centuries -- centuries in which he never ventured out, never spoke with anyone but his family. The Elf had thought his demons fought and vanquished, had been content to stay in Mandos' care. But, he was sent back -- as _all_ Elves were. When he returned, he had to once again face and battle those demons, but he was weak with guilt. He recognized that without his actions, the history of Middle-Earth would have been different. The Sons of Fëanor had been a necessary evil in Arda. Although, Mandos had told him time and time again that 'evil' was not the proper word, that was what the Elf still thought. He was evil.

All that was past and now he had this new life to face; it was a life free from the chains of his former existence. Mandos had sent them all back, and no Elf spoke against them. They were welcome in the circle of family and long-forgotten friends. The Elf saw the happiness and joy his brothers felt whenever they visited with him. How he longed to feel that same elation, but he could not.

Maedhros had avoided the homecoming, avoided his kin and friends. He begged Mandos to permit him silent travel, and Mandos had counseled him quietly, as was the Vala's way, to let his shame and guilt bleed away. But the guilt he clung to.

He had cleaved to his dishonor and guilt in life, in death, and now in life again. Maedhros knew he could never be cleansed of the deeds his hands had wrought. The figure finally moved, looking down at the pale, slim hands that held tightly to the railing of his balcony. Yes, his hands, for now he had them both. Such irony. When he no longer needed to wield a blade, he was granted his right hand again. He could take a lover now; with both hands he no longer felt like a monster. But, even with that hand, he knew himself to be a monster.

He looked back over the darkening sky, reflecting on his new life. Once a mighty Prince, he was now a humiliated Elf, slowly being consumed by his grief. Not even the Blessed Realm, a home he spent centuries wishing to look upon again, held release for his tormented spirit. Mandos would not allow him entrance again; so he stood, watching the stars appear and Ithil begin his journey through the night sky.

Just as he turned to enter the home, he thought he saw a glimmer of gold in the distance. When he blinked, it was gone. No, it had not been him, for no one had ever told his savior where his beloved cousin hid.

But it hadn't stopped him from hoping.

*****

Evening deepened into night. Maedhros sat in the oversized plush chair as he stared unseeing into the fire before him. Though he was dressed in his silk sleeping trousers, he knew he would find no rest. His dreams were haunted by heated desire. He was ashamed of the desires, of the eyes he saw looking down at him with raw passion. How many years had it been since he had looked upon such a fair face?

Maglor had departed at last, disappearing into the night when his brother still refused to engage in conversation. Maedhros had sat silently while his brother chattered about their family and friends, about the city and life. Slowly, Maglor quieted. After a few moments, Maedhros looked up, and Maglor was simply gone. Maedhros did not recall even saying goodbye to his brother.

Maedhros ignored the light knock at his door; Maglor had probably returned to try once more to draw his brother out. He had no intention of encouraging his meddlesome brother. Maedhros did not know why they would not leave him be, even for a moment. He never quite understood how Maglor dealt with his guilt, how he had put the past to rest. How was it that he was the only one of those who swore the accursed Oath to still ache with regret?

He heard the door swing open and then shut quietly. Light steps echoed in his ears and the scent of lavender and sage brought to mind laughing grey eyes and hair the color of a moonless night. Maedhros' body became tense and his eyes widened. He could not have found him; it could not be him...

The tall, lean body of an Elf he knew as well as he knew his brothers settled in front of his vision. Maedhros refused to look up, kept his eyes focused on the lacings of the Elf's tunic.

"Maedhros."

Maedhros closed his eyes slowly, wishing he could close his ears to the voice that haunted his every footstep. In life and in death, he could not escape the only Elf to have captured his heart. That voice, like a warm breeze through beech trees, caressed his heart. The voice alone promised love and salvation.

But, Maedhros wanted more; more that just could not be.

"My brother has broken a promise to me, has betrayed my trust," he finally said in an emotionless tone. He needed the dark-Elf to leave.

A soft chuckle sounded in the silent room, and Maedhros felt his breath catch. "No, he did not. I simply followed him. I thought three centuries was enough time for you to lick your wounds."

Maedhros ignored him, still looking intently at the laces of the tunic.

Fingon sighed in annoyance. "Come now, cousin, this has gone on long enough. This self-imposed isolation must end."

Raising his eyes to his long-time friend, his cousin, and willing his face to express none of his inner turmoil, Maedhros said in a low, dangerous tone, "What do you know of isolation?"

"Maedhros," he began, but was cut off immediately.

"You don't, Fingon." Maedhros stood and glared down at his cousin. He used to tease Fingon about his height. The dark-haired Elf was tall, but Maedhros had always towered over him. "Please, spare me your platitudes and your entreaties, your reasonings and any attempts of having me forgive myself my transgressions. No amount of time in Mandos' Halls will have wiped the actions from history and they will _never_ be removed from my fëa. So, please, dear cousin," he said in a softer tone, his slate eyes becoming moist with affection. "Leave me to myself and do not seek me out again."

Maedhros turned away from Fingon and retreated to the lone balcony once more. The sound of the sea soothed him, as much as he felt he could be soothed. He hoped that when he returned to the room, Fingon would have left.

He should have known better.

"I will not simply disappear, pen-dond," Fingon said from the doorway, using their childhood nickname. (tall one) "I did not come here to draw you out or to lecture you about forgiveness and absolution. You and I know different. You will torment yourself no matter what your loved ones say to you and I do not desire to waste my eternity battling with your guilty conscience."

Maedhros looked over his shoulder and pinned Fingon with an icy glare. "Then what are you doing here?"

Fingon looked away from the stormy eyes; his gaze fell on the open sea. He spoke quietly, his voice steady but full of sorrow. "Why did you hide from me, pen-dond? I could understand almost anyone else, but you shut yourself away from me." Fingon turned his eyes back to the shocked ones of his cousin. "Did you not think I would miss you? I sought you out in Morgoth's own lands. I would have done -- would still do -- anything for you."

The red-haired Elf faced the dark Elf and resisted the urge to embrace him. "I have been forever grateful that you saved me, though the Shadow was always in my heart. I distanced myself to spare you any further hurt by my hands, môrvalthen, nothing more." (golden darkness)

It was Fingon who brought them into physical contact. He could feel Maedhros' heart speed in his breast as they embraced. His cousin's skin was hot and soft, and Fingon could smell the ocean on his flesh. He felt a rising need in him to turn his face to Maedhros' and kiss his lips tenderly; instead he spoke softly against his cousin's ear, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. "You could never hurt me." He felt the shiver course through the body he held in his arms and he closed his eyes for a moment. Maglor had been right about everything and Fingon silently cursed himself for not seeking out his elusive cousin sooner.

Maedhros pulled away, backing up until he felt the railing press against him. "Why did you do that, Fingon?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you, pen-dond, I came for answers." He slowly closed the distance between them, his sapphire gaze holding Maedhros' slate one captive.

"I gave you the answers you sought. Now leave me." Maedhros knew he sounded desperate, but he could barely stave off his lust for his cousin. He could feel the hot coil of desire within him and it would be only a matter of time before that need became physically evident.

Fingon stopped when his body was close enough to his cousin to feel the heat of the Elf's skin. "I cannot leave you."

When Maedhros spoke, his voice was hoarse. "You _must_."

"Tell me why." Fingon's lips hovered above Maedhros' and he looked up at his cousin through dark lashes.

Maedhros felt his body harden; he quivered as he inhaled Fingon's sweet breath. It took all his restraint not to crush the full lips under his and take his cousin to the floor. "You should not be here." He pronounced each word through clenched teeth and willed Fingon to simply leave him.

Fingon smiled slightly and whispered into his cousin's mouth, "I am right where I am needed, pen-dond." He covered Maedhros' lips with his own in a tender kiss. Maedhros was motionless and Fingon thought his cousin had ceased to breathe. When Maedhros still did not react, Fingon brought his hand up to cup the sides of the red-haired Elf's face. He touched the tense lips with his tongue and suddenly Maedhros' whole demeanor changed. Fingon felt him relax against his body and open his mouth, inviting the dark Elf to taste him.

Fingon tasted of sweet cream and berries, one of his cousin's favorite evening treats. Very little had changed, it seemed. He drew Fingon's tongue into his mouth and Maedhros wrapped his long arms around the valiant Elf's slender waist. He drank in the smell, feel and taste of his cousin, not daring to believe Fingon was truly in his arms. They could not do this. They were kin. Maedhros buried his need, fought his desire and broke the kiss, pushing Fingon away from him and quickly entering the house.

With the taste of Maedhros still on his lips and a burning ache pooled in his loins, Fingon followed his cousin. "Maedhros?" he asked, uncertainty in his voice. Maedhros turned, his eyes blazing with confusion and need. Fingon stood several paces from him, his bright eyes devouring the sight Maedhros made.

The red-haired Elf stood illuminated by the low fire, the auburn hair shining copper in the light. Blue-grey eyes were wide with barely contained hunger and his full lips were slightly swollen from their shared kiss. Fingon moved lower down his cousin's body to the broad chest, a testament to hours with a sword. Maedhros was panting and Fingon watched the rise and fall of the smooth, pale chest before continuing his perusal. Broadness gave way to slim hips and corded thighs. Finally, Fingon looked upon Maedhros' obvious desire for him. He brought his eyes back up and smiled the distraught Elf. "Why do you still run from me?" he asked, taking a step closer, amused when Maedhros took a step back. In all their years together as playmates and then warriors, Maedhros had never lost ground to him and Fingon found it a delicious turn of events.

Maedhros continued to step back, denying himself the warmth Fingon offered him. The long, dark tresses were plaited with gold threads, highlighting the ebony tresses. He could get lost in the deep pools of sapphire; Fingon's eyes were so unusual for one so dark. Most of the Noldor he had known possessed pewter eyes, not the sparking blue that shown from Fingon's face. His cousin's body was slighter than his own, though no less deadly. Where Maedhros was almost porcelain, Fingon was golden. "You know not what you do, cousin," Maedhros said, his voice almost desperate. "You should leave."

Fingon continued to approach Maedhros until the elder Elf was flush against the stone wall. He stopped a step away from his cousin and lifted a finger to trace one of the muscles in Maedhros' stomach. "I know what I do, pen-dond."

"You do not!" Maedhros did not know why he feared his cousin so. They had always been the closest of friends, had shared everything with each other. Everything but their bodies. Maedhros would never have used his precious cousin in such a way and he would not begin to do so now.

The younger Elf brought hand up to caress Maedhros' cheek, but he flinched from the touch and Fingon frowned. "Do you not desire me as I thought you did?"

Maedhros turned his tortured gaze onto his cousin. "I will not taint you with my unseemly lust, Fingon. You have ever been the friend and companion to me and I will _not_ permit you to ease my loneliness with your body."

"I do not offer myself as a way to assuage your guilt or your loneliness, Maedhros. I offer myself to you out of the love I have felt for you for more Ages than I care to recall. Your desire is not unseemly, it is welcomed and returned!" Fingon took Maedhros' face in his hands once more and kissed him deeply, passionately, invading and plundering the depths of the lost Elf's mouth.

He moaned into Fingon's mouth and felt the fire within himself flare again. Maedhros could not refuse Fingon a second time; he did not have the resolve to stop what he had longed for. Fingon pulled him towards the large bed and Maedhros was powerless to stop him. He caressed Fingon's tongue with his; Fingon untied his cousin's sleeping trousers, exposing his heated length to the cool night air that had invaded the room as the fire died. Maedhros felt the edge of the mattress against the back of his knees and let out a yelp as he tumbled back.

Fingon looked down at his soon-to-be-lover and felt his heart leap in his chest. Maedhros was sprawled out on the bed, his copper hair a stark contrast to the bright white linens. He was flushed and panting, his eyes moist and his lips bruised. Fingon thought he had never seen such an erotic sight as his cousin at that moment. He quickly removed his own clothing, not wanting to give Maedhros the opportunity to think further on what they were about to do.

Though they had seen each other unclothed many times during their lives, Maedhros saw Fingon in a different light now. He openly looked upon his cousin's body with the eye of a lover and found himself hardening further. "Fingon," he whispered.

The younger Elf smiled and knelt before the bed. "I have long desired you, Maitimo," he said softly.

Maedhros looked down at the vision resting between his spread thighs, felt the warmth from Fingon's hands where they rested against his skin. Even nude, kneeling before him, Fingon lost none of his dignity. Maedhros stroked Fingon's cheek and spoke reverently. "My King."

Fingon shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. "A King no more." He leaned in and kissed the skin just above Maedhros' arousal, and spoke in hot puffs against the flesh. "Let me love you, Aiwa." (fiery red)

He felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he nodded to Fingon, moved by the use of the childhood nickname. "Yé, ányë melë, Lindo," he whispered brokenly, using his endearment for the musician. (yes, love me, singing bird) Maedhros closed his eyes, relishing the gentle touch of Fingon's lips against his thigh. If he thought too much, he knew he would stop his cousin, but Fingon did not offer him the possibility. Damp kisses on his inner thighs, a nip at his hip, and those soft but firm hands stroking his stomach and sides. He lost himself in Fingon and arched up into the sure touches.

Fingon drew his tongue up Maedhros' length. They had waited too long for this to be drawn out and gentle. He needed the fiery Elf; he wanted to drown in Maedhros' scent and taste. Fingon teased the slit at the tip of his lover's shaft, savoring the clear drops he found there. He had taken a few lovers over the centuries, while waiting for Maedhros, but this was what he had been craving. Fingon slid his lips over the swollen head and suckled gently, eliciting cries of need from the body beneath him. He slid his hand beneath Maedhros and his mouth slowly engulfed his length. The younger Elf tasted his lover thoroughly, quickly becoming used to the size of the column of flesh he swallowed.

Maedhros wadded the bed sheets in his hands, his eyes open and unseeing as his cousin took him down to the root. He felt the soft brush of the midnight mass of hair Fingon prized against his body and the warm hand that caressed his backside. He was awash in sensation and he moaned and writhed in abandon. Maedhros could feel his release building swiftly and he could not longer hold back his need to thrust. With Fingon's hand trapped beneath him, his cousin could do nothing but allow him. He was nearing the edge when he felt the tentative stroke at the opening to his body. The elder Elf tensed and the need for completion dissipated with the rise of panic at that touch.

Fingon released Maedhros' length and looked up at his cousin with lust-darkened eyes. Maedhros was tense, his breath coming in quick, sharp bursts and Fingon could see his lover's desire softening. "Maitimo?" he whispered. "Have I done something wrong, melethronen?" (my lover [m.])

Maedhros turned his tortured and frightened gaze to the fair King. "Findekáno," he choked out before he looked away, a flush of shame coloring his features. He had faced down all kinds of evil and yet he feared the intimacy Fingon offered him.

"You have never had a male lover, have you, Aiwa?" the dark Elf asked, his disbelief apparent in his tone.

"Nay, I have not. Not in this life or in my previous one. You have been the only male I have ever desired," he admitted reluctantly, not meeting Fingon's gaze.

Fingon stood and crawled onto the bed, drawing Maedhros into his arms. "That is nothing to be ashamed about, Aiwa," he murmured. "We do not have to do that just yet, melethen, if you are uncomfortable with the act. There are so many other delights we can enjoy before even taking that step." This time Maedhros met his gaze and Fingon leaned in to kiss him gently. "Touch me," he sighed against the red-haired Elf's lips.

Maedhros reached between their bodies and took Fingon's length in his grip, using long, slow strokes. He watched his lover's eyes close and a shuddering breath escape the swollen lips. Maedhros found Fingon to be more beautiful in passion than he had ever imagined. He swiped his thumb over the head, spreading the fluid and then bringing it up to his lips. Fingon watched him as he deliberately sucked the moisture from his finger and smiled. "You taste sweet, seron vell." (dear lover)

Fingon brought their bodies closer, taking Maedhros' shaft in his fist. The elder Elf did the same and they set a languid pace. There was no hurry and Fingon wanted to imprint his lover's first orgasm by his hand on his memory. Fingon leaned in and nipped at Maedhros' lower lip only to trace the mark he left with his tongue. Soon, Maedhros was thrusting into his hand and it required all of Fingon's self-control not to find his release. He increased the pressure of his hand, his pace quickening. Fingon pulled back, a smile on his lips as he took in the sight of Maedhros tense and trembling, panting his name and begging for something he could not understand. "You are so beautiful, Maitimo," he gasped. Maedhros' body became tight as bowstring and his hand stopped its movement on Fingon's shaft. Fingon watched in rapt fascination as Maedhros reached his peak; his lover's eyes fluttered and he threw his head back, a rough cry of completion and love echoing through the room as his hand was coated with his cousin's seed.

The only sound in the room was his breathing, and Maedhros thought it was awfully loud. He opened his eyes and met the dark blue gaze before him; the love he saw reflected in their depths took his breath away. Maedhros swallowed once and let out a long breath. "Thank you, Lindo," he said softly. (singing bird)

"It was my pleasure, Aiwa."

"I want to taste you," he stated firmly.

Fingon smiled. His fiery cousin had resurfaced and he was more than willing to allow him to do as he liked. He nodded and rolled onto his back.

It took Maedhros a few attempts, but he soon fell into a steady rhythm using his mouth and his hand. He was eager and lost himself in the act. The feel of Fingon in his mouth was wondrous, the taste and texture of the hard, smooth flesh intoxicating him. It was not long before he felt Fingon's hand on the back of his head and heard words of praise and encouragement spilling from his lover's lips. Maedhros took him further into his mouth, trying to please the younger Elf with every movement. The shaft swelled in his hand, jerked in his mouth and then his senses were flood with the thick, salty-sweet taste of Fingon's release. Maedhros tried to swallow all the fluid, but felt some of it escape his lips.

Fingon reached down and pulled Maedhros' head from his softening member. "Enough, pen-vara," he panted, trying to regain his senses. (eager one) After several calming breaths, he returned his gaze to the flushed, moist face of his lover. Fingon smiled and felt his groin twitch at the sight of Maedhros' lips glistening with his seed. "Come here, meleth."

Maedhros straddled Fingon's lap, looking down into the open blue eyes. "I did well?" he asked, childlike.

"Very well, if not a little messy," Fingon chided. His tongue snaked out to lap at the last of his fluids from Maedhros face, relishing in the moan it brought forth from his cousin. "But, that will improve with time."

For the first time in centuries, Maedhros let out a loud, full laugh. He embraced Fingon, burying his face in the dark tresses. "Melin chen, Findekáno," he whispered, imparting all the love he could in the simple words. (I love you)

Fingon held Maedhros in his arms and let out a long sigh. "Melin chen, Maitimo." After a few moments, Fingon chose to ask Maedhros what he had come to ask in the first place. "Will you come back to the city with me, Aiwa?"

Silence. Maedhros had gone still in his arms. Fingon held his breath. If his lover said no, he would not argue with him, but he so desired Maedhros' company once more. To have his cousin by his side until the end of Arda, as his friend, cousin and lover, would be more than he could ever wish for. When the silence spread even farther, Fingon lost the little hope he had being clinging to.

Maedhros leaned back, his arms still resting on Fingon's shoulders. He stared for a long time at his cousin, as if he could discern the nature of Fingon's soul from a mere look. He then nodded, slowly.

"I will."

The End


End file.
